


Bucky Barnes and his Big Beefy Blonde Part 2

by Kellyscams



Series: Kells' Fic Fest [23]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Captain America Steve, Dating, Dom!Steve, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Love Confessions, M/M, Modern Bucky Barnes, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Second Chances, Sequel, Sub!Bucky, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 16:38:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7765231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellyscams/pseuds/Kellyscams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes once spent eight glorious, sex-filled days with the Big, Beefy, Blonde fuck of a lifetime -- the recently defrosted Steve "Captain America" Rogers. </p><p>Three months later, things aren't exactly the way Bucky imagined they'd be. This Big, Beefy, Blonde, really may have changed him forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bucky Barnes and his Big Beefy Blonde Part 2

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ViperSeven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViperSeven/gifts).



> By far one of my most popular fics of [my fic fest](http://archiveofourown.org/series/399964), I've had several requests for a sequel to [Bucky Barnes and his Big Beefy Blonde.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6058681) And since my lovely Viper was super indecisive for what she wanted for her birthday, she ultimately decided that this should be it. 
> 
> Thank you all who've read the first part and liked it enough to ask for a sequel! 
> 
> And to my Viper, happy birthday, love!

It’s the scream that wakes him, ear-splitting and horrifying as it’s wretched from his lungs and pulls him out of the clutches of phantom memory nightmares. His throat hurts. His head spins. His heart drums against his ribs. Bucky grabs at his left arm, the pains in it agonizing as it’s crushed under the weight of the debris that crashes all around him and his team.

“Bucky!” someone cries. 

He doesn’t recognize the voice. Too much noise. Screaming. Crying. Bullets flying all around. Chaos. 

Bucky slams his eyes closed. He can’t watch them all die. All around him. Again and again. The men he was supposed to lead, supposed to protect. His men. 

“Bucky, come on, buddy, look at me, _see_ me!”

Hands touch him. He screams. Please, he begs, not again. 

“Barnes,” he mutters. Starts the chain of relentless mumbles that will become his only thought. “James, Buchanan, 3-2-5-5-7-0-3-8…”

“Bucky, come on, open your eyes,” says that very same voice. Soft and gentle. “You’re safe. You’re in a hotel in Washington D.C. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

Soaked in sweat and trembling all over, Bucky does as the voice requests and eases his eyes open. His vision is blurry. The room spins around him. A room he doesn’t recognize. 

A hotel, he was told. In Washington D.C. 

Yes, that’s right. Bucky remembers that as the spinning gradually comes to a stop. This is where he’s supposed to be -- where he fell asleep. Vision beginning to clear, it takes a few more moments to see where the voice is coming from. 

A pair of concerned blue eyes look down at him. A warm face, Bucky recognizes. Knows. Loves. And a rush of relief runs through him like a river breaking through a tormenting dam. 

“Clint?”

Seated at the side of Bucky’s bed, Clint smiles and nods. “Hey, buddy. Everything’s okay. You’re safe, Buck. Totally safe.”

Safe, yes. In a hotel room in Washington D.C. with one of his best friends, Clint Barton, and not trapped under broken concrete with shrapnel in his arm having to watch his men fall. That doesn’t stop the shaking. Doesn’t keep the sudden pain of burning tears in Bucky’s eyes as he heaves himself upright. It’s not just sweat he’s soaked in after this night terror. 

“Shit,” he mumbles. “I… _fuck_ …” 

Bucky can’t think straight. Can’t breathe right. He rubs at his eyes and flings the blankets away while Clint tries to tell him to take it easy. 

“Slow down, buddy,” he says. “You gotta take it easy after that.” A hand touches Bucky’s shoulder, but Bucky gasps and jerks away. Clint throws his palms up and winces at his own blunder. “Right. No touching. Sorry, Buck.” 

Shaking his head, over and over, Bucky tries to mutter an apology, gets out something nonsensical and incoherent, and snatches the pack of cigarettes off the nightstand next to him before darting into the bathroom with Clint calling after him. He’s leaned up against the door, trying with all his might to keep from breaking down while Clint stands just outside. Clint doesn’t try to come in, he doesn’t even knock. All he does is assure Bucky that he’s there, reminds him that he’s safe again, and asks him just to say something. 

“Anything, buddy, just lemme know you’re with me.”

Smothering down a built up sob with the palms of his hands, Bucky sucks in a rough and shaky breath. He nods and somehow gathers enough sense to realize that Clint isn’t able to see that. Bucky musters up the most strength he can in the moment to answer. 

“I’m fine.” His voice is thick with the tears that have broken through his carefully placed shield. “I’m fine.” He whispers it over and over, probably trying to convince himself now rather than Clint. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

Bucky stays pinned against the door muttering to himself like that for several more minutes, chasing away the lingering shadows of his nightmare and flashback. Until the sobbing stops and his breathing slows and his heart isn’t beating frantically. It’s only then that he slowly realizes his sweats feel gross as they stick uncomfortably to him. 

A new round of tears burn his eyes as he peels out of his soiled clothes. It’s been months since he’s had one this bad. As he tosses his wet clothes into the sink and lets them soak in soapy water, he decides it’s this place and what he’s here for this weekend that’s probably triggered him. Not wanting to think about it any more than he needs to, Bucky climbs into the shower to wash himself down. He stands under the hot spray of water until his skin is burning and he just can’t take it anymore. 

When he steps out of the shower and into the steamy bathroom, Bucky leaves the water running. He likes the noise and if he starts crying again -- which he doesn’t _think_ he’ll do, but just in case -- he’d rather the sounds of his pathetic weeping to be covered so Clint doesn’t worry. Towel around his waist, he doesn’t bother drying off. Bucky just sits on the floor against the tub, grabs that pack of cigarettes he brought in with him, and smokes through half of it before feeling up to facing the world again. Even if the world, right now, is reduced to a hotel room and his friend. Actually, that works just fine for Bucky, and he steps back into the room knowing he doesn’t have to feel embarrassed but is embarrassed just the same.

Bucky hugs the wall as he tiptoes back out, not looking forward to having to freshen up his bed and call room service for new sheets. It was mortifying enough to ask Clint to request rubber sheets for this very reason while making the reservations. His therapist gushed that he should’ve been proud that he’d felt brave enough to do that. All Bucky could feel was the humiliation for _having_ to do it at all. It’s one thing changing his sheets in the middle of the night in his own room of their shared apartment. It’s another having to change the fucking sheets in front of Clint in a hotel room.

Only Bucky doesn’t have to. The bed’s already been stripped down -- there’s no trace of the dirty sheets -- and remade. There’s even a chocolate mint on Bucky’s pillow. No tears are in his eyes, but Bucky wipes at them anyway. 

Clint is sitting on the other queen-sized bed, the one further into the room, and reading something on his phone. It takes Bucky stepping out of the tiny, dark hallway by the bathroom to be noticed, and when Clint sees him emerging, he tosses his phone to the side and grins. 

“Hey, there he is,” he greets. “You okay?”

Bucky, perched against the wall still, shrugs a shoulder. “I could use a drink.”

“Uh…” Clint looks at the mini-bar on the other side of the room. “Your therapist says you’re not supposed to after that stuff. And, um, Tasha said not to let you either.” 

A small curve of a smile lifts the corner of Bucky’s mouth. He doesn’t really want the drink. Well, he _does_ , but he mostly said that just to be told no. To feel the calming weight of a clear direction to guide him back to where he wants to be. Here, tonight, present. In a hotel room with Clint Barton and not some god forsaken war zone.

“‘Kay,” he whispers. “M’tired.”

Clint nods. 

“You wanna rent a movie?” he suggests. Picks up the remotes and starts flipping through the movie services. “I can go to the vending machine. Get some junk and we can just veg out until we fall back to sleep.”

That all sounds good except for the part about Clint leaving to go get junk food. Bucky doesn’t want him to go anywhere. 

“Um. I don’t want anything from the vending machine. But a movie’s good.”

“Cool beans.”

They pick a cornball comedy. Something silly that won’t require the use of many brain cells. It’s on for a good five minutes before Clint notices Bucky’s still standing by the wall. His friend knows him well enough to know what Bucky needs right now. He’s also kind enough to just move over in the bed and pull the covers down. 

“I got plenty’a room over here, y’know,” he says. 

Bucky’s lips twitch. Even though he’s still only in a towel, he pushes away from the wall and goes over to Clint’s bed. He pauses only to pull on a fresh pair of boxershorts, leaving the wet towel in a heap on the floor, and climbs in with him. 

As soon as he’s there, Clint wraps him up in his arms and hugs Bucky against his chest. Bucky holds onto him when he feels the friendly kiss to the back of his neck. Clint murmurs a few more times that he’s safe here and Bucky wants to tell him that he knows, but he’s too afraid his voice might shatter the peace. 

This is nice. Good, even. There’re only three people in the entire universe that Bucky’s ever let into this horrifying corner of his life, and only very recently. Natasha’s arms around him right now would be just as nice, just as good. 

There’s only ever been one great. Perfect, Bucky might even say. When Steve Rogers held him in his arms, Bucky felt like he’d tear apart the entire world before letting anything bad ever happen to him. 

Bucky glances at his phone. Steve’s number is in there. Same as when he got it the evening they left the motel after eight days of nothing but each other with the promise of calling in a few days. 

The clock on the nightstand reminds him that it’s nearly four o’clock in the morning. He needs to be up and out of here in three hours. Bucky burrows himself deeper into Clint’s embrace. It’s too late to call Steve now anyway. 

Three months too late. 

 

“Mm-mm,” Bucky grumbles into the pillow after hanging up their wake up call. “Not goin’.” 

From next to him, Clint lets out a loud, exasperated groan before rolling over on top of him. Bucky grunts with the added weight and tries to push him off, but Clint latches on and stays put. 

“Gotta,” he mutters. “Big day.”

“Get off me, fucker,” Bucky huffs and tries jabbing an elbow into Clint’s ribs. It’s not at all effective and he just goes limp under him again. “Come on, Barton, don’t make me. You know you don’t wanna get up.”

It’s quiet long enough that Bucky wonders if Clint’s actually fallen asleep right on top of him. He really wouldn’t put it past him. If the guy starts drooling on him though, Bucky’s gonna kill him. 

“True,” Clint answers way past the time most humans would consider acceptable. “But you can’t miss this. It’s important.” He heaves off of him and then starts shaking Bucky. “Get up, get up, get up!”

Groaning, Bucky swats at his friend and manages to roll over. All this gets him is a pillow in the face and Clint becoming more persistent, and if Clint Barton, of all people, is this adamant about getting up so early, then Bucky better just fucking do it. He’ll regret it otherwise. In more ways than one, he’s sure. 

Still, Bucky grabs hold of the pillow and presses it over his face. He would stay like that a little longer, just to squeeze a _few_ more minutes out of Clint, if his phone didn’t start chiming like crazy. 

“What the hell?” he grumbles. Moves the pillow away and reaches for his phone to see that he’s got about a half a dozen texts. All from Tasha telling him to get his ass out of bed before she comes down there to drag it out. “Barton!” Bucky exclaims. “Did you _tell_ on me?”

He can’t even imagine how. Clint is currently face down on the bed with his feet up at the head of it and one arm hanging off the side. Sure enough though, his phone is sitting on the bed next to him. 

“Reinforcements,” he mumbles. “She’s better at kicking ass than me.” Bucky opens his mouth to say he’s gonna tell her he said then, when Clint amends his statement. “Yours, anyway. Get up.”

Snorting, Bucky mumbles a few swears at both his friends as he rolls out of bed to get ready for today. 

 

“Clint?” Bucky murmurs when he’s standing in the middle of the room with his dress uniform on twenty minutes later. He’s showered -- second time in just a few hours -- and shaved and his hair is done, and he feels completely wrong. “I feel sick.”

At the mirror by the closet, Clint looks up from his third attempt at knotting his tie right. 

“What’s the matter, buddy?”

Bucky sits at the corner the nearest bed. “My stomach.”

“You’re nervous.”

He peers up at him. “Yeah.”

“President Ellis is giving you a medal of honor,” Clint points out. “I’d be nervous, too.”

One of five to receive one today. With a ceremony at the Rose Garden and a lunch to follow.

“I don’t deserve it.”

When Bucky says that, Clint stops fiddling with his tie and comes to sit next to him. 

“You saved a bunch of kids’ lives, Buck,” he says softly. Puts an arm around Bucky’s waist and tugs him closer. “You deserve it.”

People keep saying that to him. That he deserves it because of the lives saved, but all Bucky can think about are the lives losts. Lives entrusted to him. He thought he was putting all this behind him, tucking it into a neat -- not neat, messy and fucked up -- box in his head and shoving it into the furthest, darkest corner of his mind possible. Then, just five weeks ago, Colonel Rhodes called. Told him he was receiving these honors and medals. And, suddenly, that fucked up box of his was ripped open again. 

“Alright,” he whispers. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Oh, _that’s_ the spirit,” Clint chuckles. He jostles Bucky a bit before standing and bringing him up with him. “Come on, buddy. We’ll get you through this.”

Bucky’s a little less nervous once he’s there. For some reason, actually _being_ at the White House is less intimidating than waiting to go. Maybe because the other four soldiers there look just as stiff and uncomfortable in their uniforms at Bucky does. He could be just imagining that, but it makes him feel better thinking he’s not the only one who never wanted to put these things on again, even if wearing them today is just a formality and not really a requirement. 

The speeches are just as long and boring as they are at any other ceremonious event. Words of welcome and thanks delivered by each and every person that steps up to the podium. Tony Stark is a little more bearable and Bucky’s a lot more fond of the guy ever since he stopped producing weapons when he found out they were being used on innocent people. One of the reasons Bucky’s here today. Though Stark’s gotten a shit ton of ridicule for it, Bucky respects the hell out of him for the decision. 

There are senators and officers and other politicians to get through, and it’s even rougher since it’s about a hundred degrees on this early afternoon in August. The fact that Bucky had to be up so early after a restless night to get here on time to sign in and go through checkpoints and sign Clint in as his guest doesn’t help at all, and he finds himself actually nodding off before the president even comes out. 

By the time the president _does_ come out, all of Bucky’s nerves have been replaced with irritation. He just wants to get this over with. He’s tired and he’s hungry and kinda has to pee and he’s probably cranky because of the combination. 

President Ellis is delivering a pretty nice speech, as he tends to do, and it’s not that Bucky doesn’t want to listen, but in addition to being tired and hungry and cranky, he’s still not really sold on him even deserving to have such honors bestowed upon him. So when he starts talking about a special, surprise guest that’s come to join them, Bucky’s still not paying all that much attention. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” President Ellis says. “Please join me in welcoming me Captain Steven Rogers.”

And just like that, President Ellis has every ounce of Bucky’s attention. Until every ounce of his attention shifts to the Big, Beefy, Blonde shaking the president’s hand. 

“Oh, shit…” Bucky whispers. 

Steve -- or Captain America, since he’s in uniform save for his helmet -- politely waves to the audience and smiles for the cameras. Not his real smile. It’s stiff and awkward. He’s nervous. Doesn’t like all the attention. And… he looks hot as hell in that new uniform. It’s not a red, white, and blue spangly number, but a navy blue, utilitarian-looking suit. Bucky can’t take his eyes off of him. Well, to be fair, most of the people here are probably staring at him, too. Captain fucking America just showed up. It’s a pretty big deal. And, okay, so, even if it was that other outfit, Bucky’d still be drooling.

President Ellis is talking again, but even if Bucky _tried_ to pay attention, nothing would get through. Bucky’s way too busy figuring out what how the hell to play this. Maybe he can sneak away before his name is called. Or maybe Steve won’t even recognize him. Which is fucking ridiculous to even consider cause this is Captain America. 

Of course _now_ they decide to get the show on the road and hand out the actual medals and, while President Ellis is handing them out, it’s Steve who’s announcing those receiving them. And each lucky soldier gets to take a picture between them both. Yay. 

Bucky’s third in line. He’s not sure how he’s standing since his legs are plagued with pins and needles. 

“Sergeant James Buchanan B-” Steve stops and stares at the name for barely even a second, and if Bucky didn’t know that Steve knew the name already, he’d think nothing of it. He goes on without missing another beat. “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.” 

Lucky for him, Bucky’s legs seem to understand that they’re supposed to move now and they take him over to the President and Captain America. 

“Your country thanks you for all your services,” President Ellis says as he shakes Bucky’s hand and gives him his medal. 

Bucky takes it and nods once. “Thank you, Mr. President.” 

Now he’s supposed to move onto Steve -- the guy Bucky spent a week having mindblowing sex with and never called again and ignored the two calls and text he got from him. Captain America is going to thank him too and they’re going to shake hands. Only Bucky’s uniform feels too tight. His _skin_ feels too tight. It’s trying to choke him as he pushes himself to follow protocol and turn to Steve. 

Steve’s eyes are down when Bucky first steps up to him. They sweep up and when they catch Bucky’s there’s a slight pull to his lips. Almost like they’ve started pulling up into an excited smile and then as though they might turn into a disappointed frown. He clears his throat and opens his mouth. The start of something different than what he’s meant to say forms on those sinfully plump lips of his, but he catches himself and stops. Bucky badly wishes he knew what Steve was going to say first. 

“Thank you for all your services, Sergeant Barnes,” Steve says, very gently this time, holding his hand out for him. 

Bucky automatically places his hand in Steve’s. That big, warm hand closes are his and a shock runs up his spine and through the rest of his body. He never wants him to let go. 

“Thank you, Captain Rogers,” Bucky murmurs. And then goes on shaking his hand as though it’s the only thing his brain can fully process doing right now. 

They just stand there. Hands clasped. Eyes locked. The world shrinking to just Bucky and the Big, Beefy, Blonde he let get away. 

Until Steve says, “Turn for the camera, Bucky.” 

Steve’s voice is soft. He even says it nonchalantly, but the words hit Bucky like the strike of a whip and it takes all his willpower not to whimper right there in front of an audience. Not to mention the President of the United States of America. Instead of _that_ utter humiliation, Bucky does as Steve’s told him to do and he turns. Keeps his hand in Steve’s, though he can’t really recall if he’s supposed to do that or not, but Steve doesn’t let go either and they get their picture taken and then all of a sudden it over and Bucky’s walking away. He slows down and glances over his shoulder. Steve is shaking the next soldier’s hand, a soft grin at the corners of his mouth. And when they take _their_ picture, Steve lets go of the soldier’s hand.

 

“This food is amazing,” Clint says for at least the tenth time since they’ve sat down for lunch. 

It’s still too hot. All these little round tables set up on the lawns of the White House sure are pretty to look at, but it’s just too hot. Unless it’s just Bucky. No one else seems to be having any troubles. Steve sure as hell doesn’t, but that might not count cause he’s Captain America. Still, he looks pretty comfortable -- especially now that he’s in a regular dress suit and Bucky might die swooning -- over at his table sitting with Tony Stark and Pepper Potts and Colonel Rhodes and another black man who keeps making Steve laugh. Really laugh. The way Bucky knows Steve can laugh. Eyes sparkling and body shaking. Steve’s even leaned his head upon his shoulder. More than once. Bucky has no right to be jealous. None at all, but… it hurts to watch. And yet, he can’t tear his eyes way. 

“Are you okay, dude?” An elbow to his ribs makes him jump and yelp loud enough that a few eyes at the table next to them look. “What’s up with you? You said you wanted to stay for the lunch. Did you change your mind? You wanna go?”

“No!” Bucky’s voice squeaks. He fakes a cough and tries that again. “No. I’m, uh, I’m good. Just… hungry.”

“Uh…” Clint chuckles. “If you’re hungry, you might take a stab at all the food we got here.”

Bucky glances down at his plate. Sure enough, it’s still full. He’s barely even picked at it. 

Sighing, he picks up the fork and tries a forkful of mashed potatoes. Turns out, Clint is right. They’re pretty damn good. Maybe Steve likes them, too. Bucky tries to crane his neck to take a peek at his plate, but he’s way too far away. 

“Okay, seriously, what the hell is going on with you?” Clint asks. “Are you checking out Captain America?” 

The blood drains from Bucky’s face. It shouldn’t. Checking out Steve Rogers is something he’s pretty sure everyone here’s tried to do at least once. But getting caught like this feels like he’s admitted to everything already. 

“I…” Bucky shakes his head. “No. I’m… not.” Ugh, that’s a horrible lie. “I’m just…”

“He sure is pretty,” Clint comments instead of letting Bucky continue fumbling over his outrageous lie. “Look at that jawline. Mm-mmm. Bet it could cut _glass_.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky remembers very vividly what that jawline feels like rubbing up against the inside of his thigh and how it tastes under his lips. 

“Shit.” Clint starts laughing now, holding it back before it gets too loud. “He’s a triple ‘B’, Buck! You should totally--”

“Oh god,” Bucky moans and leans forward, smothering his face with his hands. “Don’t. Please, don’t.” 

“What?” All traces of funny are completely gone. Clint’s hand is on Bucky’s back. “What’s wrong?”

Peaking up at Steve again, Bucky watches him place a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Smiling brightly. 

“I gotta tell you something,” Bucky says, eyes still on Steve. “You can’t say anything.”

“Okay?”

“You, uh, you remember when I disappeared a while back?” 

“You mean with your super, secret mystery triple ‘B’?” Clint chuckles. “Oh man, I thought Tasha was gonna kill you for that.”

His two best friends, in theory, know that Bucky secretly regrets not calling that super, secret mystery triple ‘B’. They know, because he’s slipped and said so in so many ways. Comparing a hook up to him or just getting caught daydreaming.

“Yeah, well, what you don’t know is, uh… he’s here.”

“No _shit_.” Clint starts looking around, trying to figure out who. “Where is he?” Bucky’s only answer to that is _looking_ at the guy he’s been ogling this whole time. Clint looks at Steve. Shakes his head like he’s missing something and Bucky can literally see the moment when it clicks. Clint’s eyes go wide. “You’re _fucking shittin’_ me! You’re a _liar_!”

“Would you keep your voice down!” Bucky scolds after a few people turn to look at them. “No, I’m not lying. It was… I hooked up with him.”

“ _He’s_ the one? The _big_ one?” He snickers. “Hell _yeah_ the big one,” Clint snarks under his breath. “The one that got away?”

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers, eyes floating back to Steve. “The one that got away.” 

“Well damn, Buck, now’s your big chance!” He tugs on Bucky’s sleeve. “Go talk to him!”

Oh, right. That’s what he’ll do. He’ll just go over there and talk to the guy he basically ditched three months ago. Strike up a casual conversation like it’s an everyday thing. Sure. 

“Are you nuts?” Bucky grumbles. “I can’t do that. I barely even hook up with someone more than once, and you want me to go up to Captain America after I ditched him like that?” 

Picking up one of the glasses of water in front of them, Clint scoffs and takes a sip. He then holds it in his hand and swirls the drink around like some evil mastermind. 

“Look, I might not know much from anything.” Which is total bullshit, yes he does. “But one thing I know is you’ve been different since hooking up with that guy.”

Bucky blinks, looks back at Steve and then to Clint again. “Different?”

“Mhm.” He takes another sip of water. “You’ve opened up more to Tasha and me. And you’re definitely taking your therapy more seriously.” Bucky blushes and looks at his lap. “And Mr. I-don’t-believe-in-love literally just said ‘the one that got away’. You _literally_ just used the term _the one_ , Bucky. Now.” He makes a show of putting the glass down. “I dunno if that all has to do with hooking up with Captain America or not, but… the universe seems to be giving _pretty strong_ hints that maybe you should go talk to the dude.”

For someone who acts so damn oblivious all the time, Clint sure notices a shit ton of stuff that Bucky’d rather stay _unnoticed_. 

_You don’t wanna do this with someone like me_ , he’d said to Steve three months ago. 

Steve said he liked him. Steve said he wanted him. They made love. For eight glorious, wonderful days. And then Bucky freaked. Bucky freaked and didn’t call him and tried to pretend like he wasn’t changed forever by an eight-night-stand with Steve Rogers. 

“I can’t,” Bucky whispers. “It’s too late.”

“Oh come on! You can--”

“No, I mean… I think he’s with that guy over there.” Bucky doesn’t have the courage to look this time. Now that he’s admitted it, it hurts too much. “The hot black guy next to him.” 

It’s quiet for a few seconds. Clint’s probably checking for himself. Watching Steve and his friend flirting the way Bucky’s been torturing himself with all afternoon long. 

“Uh, I dunno, buddy,” he finally says a minute or two later. “You might wanna rethink that.” 

Bucky quickly glances back up. “Wait, what?”

Clint points. Over at the table is one extra person now. Or rather, a new person, since Steve is no longer there. In his seat, is a rather dangerously, beautiful brunette. And the guy Bucky thought might be with Steve is kissing her. 

“Oh shit,” Bucky breathes. Panic washes through him. Prickling fear when he realizes something very, very important. “Oh no. Oh, fuck, where is he? Where’d Steve--”

“Over there,” Clint snickers and points. “At the bar.” He nudges him with his shoulder. “Go get ‘im, Buck.” 

It’s the last thing Bucky remembers clearly before he finds himself pacing slowly towards the bar. Aimlessly. Seriously, he has no fucking clue what he’s going to do or say when he gets there, he just knows that he’s getting closer and closer to Steve. 

This is completely uncharted territory for Bucky. He _always_ knows what to say when he goes up to someone. _Always_ knows what to do. Whether it’s some cheesy pick up line or something suave and smooth, he’s got something for every occasion. Not this, not for Steve Rogers. And the second he’s right behind him, it hits Bucky that he has no idea what he’s doing.

Bucky spins back around to run then thinks better of it. He almost taps Steve’s shoulder. And turns again. This time slamming right into a passing waiter when he tries to run. 

A silver tray of mimosas flies up in the air, drinks spilling all over the places as glasses crash into the grass. The waiter and Bucky collide hard, both getting out loud and painful grunts. There’re gasps, even a startled _oh my goodness_ as Bucky falls to the ground. 

He never hits it though. Just before he’d slam into champagne soaked grass and dirt, a pair of thick, burly arms -- warm and familiar and safe -- scoop him back up to his feet. Bucky has no idea what just happened. One second he was headed for the floor and complete humiliation and the next he’s standing there dazed and confused, probably with a ridiculous expression to go with it. If he looks anything like the waiter -- who, somehow, also managed to remain upright and even has his tray clutched in his hands -- then, yeah, he looks stunned, surprised, and pretty silly. 

“Are you okay?”

His voice makes everything else disappear, the world transforming to nothing but the concerned warmth that circles around Bucky. He looks up. Steve is standing right in front of him. Hand lightly touching his face like he’s checking to make sure he hasn’t bumped anything even though he never actually touched the ground. 

“Bucky?” Steve gently taps his cheek. “Are you hurt?” 

Instead of answering the question, Bucky opens his mouth and says, weakly, “Hi.”

Steve’s eyebrows pull together before shooting up as though understanding that Bucky’s giving him an actual greeting. 

“Hello, Bucky.” He chuckles. “It’s good to see you again.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters. Around them, people are cleaning up the mess and fussing over the collision that may have totally been Bucky’s fault. Neither he nor Steve notice. “Can I, uh, get you a drink?”

Yeah, real smooth. From an open bar. What a winner, Barnes. 

But, after a quick glance at the place in question, where he’d just been standing a few seconds -- or maybe minutes, Bucky’s not even sure -- ago, Steve gives him a soft smile and nods. 

“Sure. I’d… I’d like that.” 

An open bar at the Rose Garden of the White House is… well, it’s a _little_ different than a fetish gay bar and they both end up sitting at an empty table with glasses of wine. They’re mostly quiet at first, chitchatting about mindless things like the weather and the ceremony today and Steve even asks if Bucky’s gonna be here long in D.C., but neither of them address the elephant in the… garden. They just sip their wine and make awkward small talk until those glasses are empty. 

Steve says, “Well, it was nice seeing you again. Thank you for the drink.” Even though they were free. Steve fumbles with trying to say something else but just goes with, “Have a, uh, a good day, Buck.”

And then he gets up like his life depends on it. He gets up and he’s going to leave and if Bucky makes the same mistake twice he’s the biggest fucking idiot in the world. 

“Steve, wait!” he shout. There’s no reason to though. Steve’s barely even gotten a step away. 

He turns back. “Yeah?”

“Um.” Bucky fiddles with his fingers. “I’m an asshole.” 

“You…” Steve gives him a smile, but there’s hurt behind it. An emotion he’s trying to hide and it twists around like lead in Bucky’s stomach. “You don’t have to do that, Bucky. You weren’t under any obligations to talk to me.” He shakes his head. “And you’re not an asshole.”

“No, no, I am.” Bucky turns back to the table and rests his elbows down. “We spent a _week_ together. An _amazing_ week and I… I said I’d call you and I didn’t. And I… ignored you when you tried to call me. That wasn’t right. Especially after you gave me that chance that night.”

Steve sits back down with him. “I _wanted_ you that night, Bucky. And I…” He blushes and glances away. “Yeah, I hoped we would see each other again. I wanted to get to know you. I thought, maybe, I dunno, I’m not always so good at readin’ people, but… I _thought_ there was something between us.” 

Not good at reading people? This guy must really be off his rocker. Bucky’s never met anyone who pegged him so well, so fast. Steve Rogers practically had him wrapped around his thick finger within a few hours of meeting him. 

“No, there… there was something between us,” Bucky admits. “I just…” He sighs. “I dunno. I dunno what’s wrong with me.”

Steve smiles sadly. “You did tell me you didn’t like having relationships with people. That you didn’t believe in love. There’s nothing wrong with that. Or with you.” 

Bucky _had_ told him that. That he didn’t really believe in love -- romantic love anyway. He loved his parents before they died and he loves Tasha and Clint. That’s a different kind of love though. But he never parted from someone the way he did with Steve. Never exchanged numbers and promised to meet up again. Bucky broke that promise. By never calling Steve and not acknowledging Steve’s attempts to contact him. 

“I hurt you,” Bucky whispers. He can see that. See it in the way Steve keeps his gaze down. In the way his smile never really brightens the way Bucky knows it can. “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey,” Steve murmurs. “It’s okay. I’m okay, Bucky.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky’s lips lift in a cool smirk. “So… we’re good? _We’re_ okay?” 

Steve offers a grin. “Of course. You didn’t think I’d hold a grudge or anything, did you? I had a really good time with you, Bucky. It sucks that it ended, but I’m not mad or anything.” He reaches over and claps a hand down on his shoulder. Keeps it there, too. “We’re good.”

An air of relief breathes around Bucky. Since Steve’s hand is still on his shoulder, he takes hold of his wrist and gives it a squeeze. They catch eyes, smile at each other, and even start giggling. 

After that, Steve stays at the table with him and they end up catching up a bit. It’s now almost a year since Steve’s been back. He tells Bucky he’s still trying to figure out where his place is in this world. That he’s been doing rescue missions and charity work. A hell of a lot more noble than Bucky’s data entry job and random hook ups. Even though, at one point, Steve congratulates Bucky on the medal he received today. Bucky thanks him and moves the conversation onto this year’s baseball season, hoping Steve realizes he doesn’t want to talk about it. Steve does, and he rolls with the change without questioning it. 

They end up laughing till they cry when Bucky shares the story of how he fell out of a tree trying to save a cat and the cat just stared at him before calmly leaping down from the branch it’d been perched on. Steve comments that cat’s are such assholes, but too adorable not to love. Bucky agrees. Steve tells him how he used to stuff newspapers in his shoes and went to the World’s Fair where he saw Howard Stark present a prototype for a flying car. 

“I told Tony I was a little disappointed,” he says. “I wake up seventy years in the future and there are no flying cars.”

There’s giggles and smiles and easy touches. Steve’ll put a hand on Bucky’s knee and Bucky’ll brush his thumb across Steve’s knuckles which leads to lingering hand holds. They’ve been giggling and flirting and Bucky’s made Steve blush numerous times. Simple compliments are enough to do it, too. Just a _fuck, your smile is amazing_ will do the trick. 

The longer they sit there, the more at ease Bucky begins to feel. It becomes a lot simpler to fall into the natural role he feels with Steve. Flirty and playful. Teasing remarks and sassy retorts. He gets lifted eyebrows and a few clicks of Steve’s tongue. Once, Steve even slips and tells him to stop being a brat. It’s the _first_ time Bucky blushes. 

Everything is so smooth and natural -- the laughs and touches and smiles -- that when someone comes over to them, Bucky’s nearly forgotten that they’re actually somewhere with other people and not just sitting there by themselves. 

“Hey, man.” It’s Steve’s friend and his, Bucky assumes, girlfriend. “Me and Maria are taking off.”

“O-oh…” Steve, like Bucky, starts looking around. Almost everyone is already gone. Staff is even clearing up empty tables. “I didn’t even…” He shakes his head. “Um, oh, uh, Sam, this is Bucky.” Steve gestures between them both. “Bucky, this is Sam and Maria.”

Bucky shakes both their hands. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Sam replies. “You must be pretty interesting to keep Steve’s attention all this time.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Maria remarks with a slight lift of her eyebrows. “Steve’s pretty easily entertained.” 

Not sure if Maria’s teasing him or maybe Steve, Bucky just blinks at her until Steve scoffs and hugs him from behind. A rush of heat shoots through him. Melting muscles and curling around bones. 

“Come on, lay off,” he laughs. “Bucky’s a good guy.”

Whatever happens next, the exchange of pleasantries between them that include both Sam and Maria laughing and Steve gently brushing his fist into Sam’s shoulder, goes right in one of Bucky’s ears and out the other. Steve’s just called him a good guy. He might as well have just stuck wings on him and sent him up in the air, because he’s now floating away. Soaring among fluffy clouds and golden sunbeams. 

“Uh, so, we should probably get going,” Steve is suddenly saying. They’re alone again, Sam and Maria walking away hand-in-hand. “I think they’re trying to clear out of here.”

Bucky, suddenly remembering Clint, checks the table he left him at. Sure enough, it’s empty. His phone has one single text from his friend. 

**Clint: hey Mr. i-don’t-believe-in-love!! I’m heading back to the room! Have fun with Mr. the-one-that-got-away!**

Bucky looks back up from his phone. Sees Steve duck his gaze back down. Funny. Last time they were together, Steve knew exactly what he wanted and took it. He’s nervous now. The change of scenery and scenarios making him less confident. And maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t want to part yet. Just like Bucky doesn’t. 

“Hey, you wanna go somewhere together?”

Steve lights up with a smile. “Yeah. I do.” He grabs Bucky’s hand and gives him a light tug to make him follow. “Come on. I know a shortcut.” 

That shortcut of his happens to be directly through halls and rooms of the White House that someone like Bucky would _never_ have access to. But Steve guides him through them, sprinting like a little kid and making Bucky stumble over his feet as he laughs his ass off the whole time. They might be there legally, but there’s just something so taboo about it it feels dangerous and risky. 

They make it through without getting arrested or anything like that, and by the time they end up on the streets again, they’re both falling over each other, laughing. 

“So,” Steve says, straightening without having to catch his breath at all while Bucky leans over trying to steady his. “Where to?”

Bucky’s sure to text Clint first, just so he knows that he’s okay, and then they head over to the nearest sports bar since it’s actually almost dinner time. The two of them spent so long together neither of them realized that hours had actually passed. They probably only got to stay so long in the first place because Steve’s Captain America. No one wants to shoo Captain America away. 

Thing is, after just an hour or so of being at the bar, Bucky gets another text from Clint informing him of their new room number and train time. Confused, Bucky’s about to text him back for an explanation when he notices the time. 

It hasn’t only been an hour. It’s been several. He’s been so caught up in Steve he didn’t even notice. They’ve been pigging out on nachos and wings and other gross, greasy bar food that just hits the spot after such a snazzy shindig. 

“Holy shit,” Bucky mumbles as he thanks Clint for taking care of everything. “It’s after midnight.”

“Really?” Steve checks the time for himself, eyes going wide as he does. “Wow. I didn’t even realize.” He scratches the back of his head. “I’m, uh, having a good time.”

“Yeah, me too. Maybe… it doesn’t have to end?” He smirks, feeling bold. “Maybe we can get a room?”

Any courage Bucky’s accumulated during their time together completely vanishes when Steve’s face falls. That bright, animated expression he’s been wearing almost all day gets replaced by a look Bucky recognizes. All the air rushes out of Bucky’s lungs, like a hard kick to his gut. He’s about to be rejected. Gently, but rejected nonetheless. 

“Bucky…”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky interrupts. “I should’ve known.” He chugs the rest of the beer he has. “Stupid to ask.”

“No, no.” Steve gathers Bucky’s hands in his own. “Listen to me. I do want to. Really, I do.”

Bucky nods. “There’s a but in there.”

“Yeah. See, I _do_ believe in love.” He chuckles softly to himself. Almost _at_ himself. “I dunno. Maybe I’m too idealistic, but that’s what I’ve always believed. Maybe not in just… _one_ person for everyone. I mean, I loved Peggy. Still do.” Steve’s eyes glisten when he says Agent Carter’s name, a few tears even rolling across long lashes, and Bucky’s stomach falls. “I’m so lucky that I still have her. I think…” He smiles softly. “I _hope_ I can find that again.” Kissing Bucky’s knuckles, Steve rests his brow upon them and Bucky watches as he struggles with what he says next. “What I’m trying to say is… I _want_ that… and as much as I… oh god as much I _want_ to go somewhere with you right now, I need more. I can’t do that again. I can’t have you and watch you walk away again knowing I can’t have more.”

Then… then this… no, this can’t be it. The thought of this being all he gets of Steve is just too heartbreaking. Steve is now apologizing for possibly misleading Bucky tonight and offering to pay their tab. When Bucky doesn’t say much of anything, because he can’t, his heart is too busy frosting over and spreading that ice through his veins, Steve nods and gets up to do just that. 

Bucky approached Steve today having no idea what to say or what to do. He had no idea what would happen if he tried to talk to him after leaving him hanging for three months. Now, if he wants to keep Steve in his life, and he does, more than anything, Bucky knows what he needs to do. The truth. He needs to tell him the truth. 

“I wanna try.”

Still at the bar, paying their bill, Steve turns around and tilts his head. “What?” 

“I can’t… I can’t promise you that it’ll work, I’m all sorts of fucked up, Steve, but…” Bucky huffs and rubs his eyes. “I wanna try. With you. Whatever you want. Just please don’t say goodbye.” 

“Bucky, I…” Steve sighs and steps up closer. The heat coming from his body is so powerful, so strong. It wraps around Bucky in all the promises of keeping him safe and warm forever. “I don’t want you to change for me. I--”

“No, you don’t understand, Steve.” Bucky lets his head drop against Steve’s chest. “I _want_ you.” So badly it hurts. “In any way you’ll give me. I fucked up the first time. Just… please, tell me what I have to do to earn a second chance.” 

Fingers slip under Bucky’s chin, Steve coaxing his gaze back up. He goes willingly, getting caught in the baby blues of the most amazing big, beefy, blonde he’s ever known. Steve smirks. Those eyes sparkle, stardust twinkling with easy mischief. 

“You’re serious?”

“Completely.” Bucky’s fingers bunch in the ends of Steve’s suit jacket. “Just tell me what to do.” 

A smirk pulls up on Steve’s mouth. He nods, and doesn’t need any time at all to come up with something. 

“Okay. You made me wait three months.” He touches his brow to Bucky’s. “Now you give _me_ three.” 

Oh. Well, Bucky can’t say that doesn’t hurt, but it’s fair. He did disappear on the guy and all. 

“You don’t wanna see me for three months, then?”

Steve chuckles and shakes his head. “Not what I had in mind, no. I wanna see you. You give me three months to…” He bobs his head once. “I guess, to borrow on old-fashioned term… _court_ you.”

Backing his head up, Bucky can’t believe his ears. Steve didn’t just simply use the term date. He doesn’t want to _date_ Bucky.

“You want to what?” he asks. “ _Court_ me?”

That smirk deepens, the dimple by his cheek showing more. “That’s right. You can send me away any time you want, of course. But I want to court you. I wanna sweep you off your feet, Bucky Barnes. Every romantic gesture and cliche you can think of and no sex the whole time.” Steve thinks on that for a second. “Okay, maybe _some_ sex stuff.” He skims his thumb across Bucky’s bottom lip. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to resist.”

Barely able to contain a whimper, Bucky’s lips part. Right before he can suck Steve’s thumb into his mouth, Steve pulls it away and wags a finger at him. Scolding, and Bucky damn near goes weak at the knee. Steve’s confidence is back and doing all sorts of crazy, wonderful things to Bucky. 

“And at the end of the three months,” Steve goes on, “if you still wanna sleep with me, and I can’t imagine that I wouldn’t wanna sleep with you since I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind, then we will. And then…” Steve shrugs. “We’ll figure it out from there.” He steps back and holds out a hand. “Deal?”

Bucky looks down at the hand and the deal it represents. His entire body is tingling with anticipation. With fear. With excitement. With everything in between. He’s never felt anything quite like this before. 

“Okay,” he says and claps his hand into Steve’s. “You have a deal. Court me, Steve Rogers.”

***

“You’re really serious?” Tasha asks for the third time. “You have a _date_ with Captain America?” 

“Steve Rogers,” Bucky corrects as he stands in front of his open closet. “And, yes. Tonight. And I really need your help so if you’re just gonna ask me the same question over and over--”

“Uh,” she interrupts. “I don’t like your tone, James.”

Bucky winces. There’s a reason the two of them work so well together. She never lets him get away with any bullshit but will always be the first person at his side when he needs it most. Between Tasha and Clint, Bucky’s pretty sure he’s got the best friends in the world. 

In fact, the only part of this whole arrangement she questioned was Bucky going three months without getting laid. 

“You really think you can do it?” she asked. “Three months? No sex?”

“Well.” Bucky crinkled his face. “He did say _some_ fooling around would be okay. But even without that…” He shrugged. “He’s worth it, Tasha.”

She wasn’t annoyed at all that he kept the fact that his super secret triple ‘B’ was Captain America. Said that was their business. She _was_ highly impressed and very pleased with herself though since, out of all the people Bucky’s ever hooked up with the only other person besides her that’s brought him to his knees and pulled out that wildly submissive side of his has been Captain America.

Another thing he and Steve discussed. Steve said not much sex -- the thought alone is driving Bucky wild with need and desire -- but they still spent their night in D.C. discussing limits and safewords. Bucky asked him if he’d ever mind taking the lead in areas outside of sex. Simple things to give him -- both of them, really -- that cathartic release of being emptied out and left sparkling clean inside. Steve agreed. Said they’d take it step by step. They ended the night with Steve telling Bucky he’d pick him up on Saturday at seven. And gave him one chaste kiss. 

The only contact Bucky’s had with him since last Saturday is a text confirming that they’re still on -- twice during the week, which, Bucky can’t really blame Steve for -- and one earlier today telling him to dress casually. When Bucky asked for more details, Steve just sent back a winky face. 

“Okay, okay,” Bucky grumbles. “M’sorry. I’m just… I’m really nervous.”

“Yeah well…” Tasha stretches and then heaves off the bed. “When was the last time you went out on a _date_?” 

He doesn’t need to think about it, even if it was more than two years ago right after he was discharged. 

“Brock,” he grumbles. 

Last time he attempted something remotely like this, Bucky ended up swearing off the dating scene forever. They dated for a bit. Had a good time. Fucked like it was no one’s business. And then one night Bucky woke up screaming. Soaked in sweat and couldn’t breathe and didn’t know where he was, and by the time he calmed down Brock dumped him for be so damaged. Made Bucky leave, too, since they were staying at his place. Bucky only remembers bits and pieces of that night, but he can recall trembling hands dialing for Tasha. 

Her arms slip around his waist now. Squeeze. Tasha presses the edge of her head against the back of his shoulder. 

“Come on, James,” she murmurs. “Let’s get you ready for Steve Rogers.”

 

The knock on the door comes at exactly seven o’clock on the dot. Steve Rogers is very, very punctual. Bucky, much to his friends’ irritation, has been pacing back and forth in the living room for the past twenty minutes. With Natasha’s help, Bucky’s now all dressed and ready for his hot date. Nice pair of black, skinny jeans, tight white shirt -- v-neck. Hair, neatened, but not slicked back. But the second the knock happens, Bucky freezes. A shimmer of gold spirals down his spine and Bucky finds himself grinning like a school boy and ready to bound over to the door.

Only he’s not allowed. Not when Tasha is suddenly shooing him back into his room like a child. 

“What’re you--”

“Get out of here,” she says. “We’ll get the door.”

“But…”

Clint, now on his feet, gives him a shove towards the hall. On Tasha’s side, too it would appear. Bucky’s totally ganged up on. 

“He’s _courting_ you, buddy,” he reminds him. “Not dating you. Wouldn’t be proper at all if _you_ answered the door.”

Bucky’s almost out of the room when he’s struck with the sudden realization of what’s really going on here. He spins back around, horrified. 

“You _planned_ this, didn’t you!?”

“Go!” they both shout at him, fingers lifted to point the way.

Grumbling the whole time, Bucky mutters something about everyone being against him and doesn't _actually_ go back to his bedroom. Instead, he just stays out of sight in the hall and listens intently as his two former best friends answer the door. 

“Hello.” Steve. That’s Steve. A smile, bright as the first streak of dawn, pulls up on Bucky’s mouth and he’s already blushing, dear _god_ what is wrong with him? “I’m Steve.” There’s a slight quiver in his voice. He sounds nervous. “You must be Natasha and Clint.”

That’s followed by typical shaking of hands and nice to meet yous. Steve is invited in and the door closes and Bucky’s palms begin to sweat. They make a bit of small talk, and Bucky’s pretty sure they’re dragging this out because they hate him and want him to suffer as much as possible. Until, probably only about two minutes later, they finally get to the point. 

“So,” Tasha says. “I understand you’re here because you want to take our Bucky out.” 

“Yeah,” Steve replies. “If that’s alright.” 

Bucky’s just about to shout back that they don’t have any say in the matter when Clint asks what it is Steve wants to do with Bucky tonight and all matters of being a smart ass completely disappear. He’s much more interested in finding _this_ out. Bucky leans a little closer towards the living room. And suddenly their voices are _that_ much lower and Clint is _awing_ at whatever Steve’s said. 

“You guys suck,” Bucky grumbles _just_ loud enough to be heard. 

“Hey!” Tasha scolds. “Watch it mister or you’re not going anywhere tonight!”

“Yeah!” Clint concurs, riding along Natasha’s idea. “You’re lucky we’re not chaperoning!” 

Bucky scoffs. “You’re not doin’ shit!” 

Everyone inside, Steve too, he thinks, chuckles, and the next thing Bucky knows, Tasha is in the hall with him. She swipes her fingers through his hair once and brushes a hand across his shoulder before looping their arms. Smiling at him, she pecks his cheek. 

“He’s nervous,” she murmurs as she _escorts_ him back into the living room. “You’re gonna have a good time, Bucky.”

Before Bucky can even think on that, they make it to the living room. Where Steve is waiting. He’s sitting on the couch. Well, no, now he’s standing since he hopped to his feet the second he saw them coming in. And he’s got as a bouquet of flowers in his hands. Sunflowers. Bucky’s blushing all the way to the tips of his ears already. 

“H-hi,” he greets. Dopey smile on his face. “Hi, Steve.”

“Sergeant Barnes,” Steve replies. His smile is stunning. It nearly knocks Bucky off his feet. “Still wanna go out today? 

The answer to that is a most definite yes, and, after taking the flowers from Steve, with an uncharacteristically bashful _thank you_ and Steve’s promise to have Bucky home early -- Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes -- they head on their way. Not that Steve’ll tell Bucky where they’re going. No matter what Bucky does or how much he asks. Steve, though he laughs at Bucky’s poking and nudging, is tightlipped the whole time. Not that it takes too long for Bucky to figure out _where_ they’re headed. 

“Are you taking me to Coney Island?”

Steve grins shyly. “I know it’s not a super traditional date. I just… wanted to do something fun with you. Do you mind?”

To answer that, Bucky gently laces their fingers and holds Steve’s hand in his. Holds it tight. He hasn’t done this in a long time and he doesn’t fight the urge to bring Steve’s knuckles up to his lips to kiss them. He smiles. So does Steve. 

“When I was little,” Steve tells him, “I got sick whenever I tried to ride the Cyclone. I haven’t tried since I got back. Mind givin’ it a shot with me?”

“Pft.” Bucky nudges him. “Try to keep up, Rogers.” 

It’s kind of a silly thing to do, challenging Steve Rogers to keep up with him. Since apparently a challenge is something Steve Rogers takes very, very seriously and there’s no way in hell Bucky could ever _dream_ of keeping up with Steve. The very second the guy cross the gates, he’s grabbing hold of Bucky’s wrist and pulling him through the whole park. 

They get Nathan hot dogs for dinner and then cotton candy and pretzels and ice cream -- Steve does, anyway. He refuses to let Bucky pay for anything. Bucky tries his luck at a basketball game only to lose and Steve wins it and gives the prize to him -- a cute stuffed bear with a blue and red peacoat and black mask that Steve affectionately calls _Bucky Bear_. They sprint away from the arcade area when Steve whacks a mole a little too hard and the machine breaks. 

Steve drags Bucky on every ride he can -- though Bucky’ll use the term _drag_ very loosely since he’s just as enthusiastic, it’s just that Steve’s enthusiasm is that of an excited puppy’s. They save the Cyclone for last and, funny enough, Steve starts fiddling with his fingers and shuffling his feet while they're on line for it. 

“You nervous, Rogers?” 

“No,” Steve grumbles. “M’not nervous.”

“Holy shit.” Bucky bursts out laughing. “Yes, you are! Aren’t you the guy who jumps outta planes and shit and you’re scared of a little rollercoaster?” 

Cheeks red, Steve ducks his head and mutters, “I ain’t scared, Barnes.”

Chuckling, Bucky dips down just enough so that he can catch Steve’s gaze. When their eyes meet, Steve blushes harder and holds in a smile. Bucky slips an arm around his waist and hugs him tight. 

“Don’t worry, Stevie,” he says. “I’ll protect you.” 

Steve whines and laughs and buries his face in Bucky’s hair. He kisses the top of Bucky’s head and hugs him back. And gets off the ride breathless and laughing and throwing his arms back around Bucky to drag him back on again. 

They stay still the park’s closing at midnight and by the time Steve’s walking Bucky back to his door, Bucky’s really not ready to let the guy leave again. 

“You… wanna come in for coffee?” he asks. “Or something.” 

Smirking, Steve steps up closer and puts his hands gently at Bucky’s waist. He gives a soft pull to beckon him in.

“C’mere,” he whispers. “Did you have fun?”

Stardust shimmers all around him when Steve holds him close like this. His touch makes Bucky’s skin tingle all over. 

“Mhm.” That’s all Bucky’s really capable of saying at the moment. Words’re disappearing with Steve’s mouth inching closer. 

“So did I.” 

Right before their lips would touch, Steve darts away and kisses Bucky’s cheek instead. 

“Behave, Bucky,” he murmurs right in Bucky’s ear, and Bucky makes the most pathetic sound -- some mix of a whine and whimper and groan. Steve chuckles. “And not this time,” he says in response to Bucky’s initial question. “Would you like to go out again though? Dinner, maybe?”

“Yes,” he whispers, once he’s able to connect with the part of his brain that makes words again. “Yes, Steve. Yes.” 

Adding another kiss to Bucky’s cheek and then one to his temple -- this one lingering a little as though Steve just can’t help himself -- he pulls away. Fast. Almost like he’s forcing himself to. 

“Goodnight, Bucky,” he says. Goes to leave but doesn’t before giving one more kiss, this time to Bucky’s brow. 

Bucky watches Steve as he hurries down the hall shifting in his spot as his erection pushes painfully against his pants. His entire body is on fire. Flames of need that engulf him down to his very core. 

“ _Three_ months?” he calls after Steve.

Without turning around, Steve holds up three fingers and keeps on walking, chuckling as he does. 

Bucky groans, leaning up against his door. He might wanna check out investing in lube stocks. He’s probably gonna single handedly drive the price up. 

***

The first month, Steve’s like a walking cliche of romantic gestures. He’s all about coming to the door to pick Bucky up and walking him back when their night is over. The apartment is officially never out of fresh flowers since Steve loves to bring them with him. All different types, too. He’s even sent a box of chocolate to Bucky’s office to make his day, as the note along with it said, _a little sweeter_. 

And that’s not even their dates. 

The dates Steve takes him on are out of this world. Even though Steve assures him that he won’t _always_ be so over the top, the guy just can’t seem to resist going big. 

Steve’s taken Bucky star gazing on the Brooklyn Bridge and to firework shows after Cyclone games. They’ve had picnics in Central Park and even went on a hot air balloon ride over the Hudson Valley -- Bucky clung to Steve during most of that cause it _was_ a little freaky. 

One sentimental day, Steve took him on a tour of his old neighborhood, pointing out where he used to live with his mother and then the orphanage he grew up in after she died. Steve choked up a few times during the day and Bucky hugged him every time -- so honored that Steve shared such a trip with him.

They, of course, have their share of traditional dates. Dinner and a movie. Brunch. Coffee dates. Steve even once made reservations at this amazing restaurant with bookshelves for walls -- “I know you love to read and all,” he said. “I thought you’d really like this” -- and a magical garden patio with rustic lanterns and glowing lights. Then there was the night they stopped back at Steve's place after dinner. They hadn't planned on it, but while they were out, they found out there was going to be an outdoor, picnic style performance at the park. Steve's place was closer so they just ran up to grab a blanket to sit on and some snacks and Steve offered use of his bathroom as he went to get it all, but all Bucky could do was stare at what was on the floor, perched against the couch. 

The shield. Just sitting there like an everyday _thing_ found in _everyone's_ home. Captain America's shield. Bucky'd seen it in history books his whole life and then photos after Steve returned, but there it was. Right in front of him. So beautiful and full of remarkable history and yet, so damn intimidating, Bucky's hand trembled when he, unthinkingly, reached out to touch it. 

"It's not gonna bite, Buck."

Bucky spun around like a kid caught red handed. He gasped and threw his hands behind his back. "Steve! I'm... I'm sorry, I... I shouldn't've..."

But Steve only chuckled and tossed the blanket he had tucked under his arm onto the couch. He just casually lifted the shield -- _his_ shield -- flipped it between his hands, and then held it out to Bucky.

"You can hold it," he offered. "Lots of people are curious about it."

It was a lot lighter than Bucky expected. He turned the shield this way and that, looped his arms in the straps, felt like a little kid pretending to be the great Captain America. But the longer he held it, the heavier it felt, and when he handed it back to Steve, he had been smiling and chuckling and enjoying Bucky's enjoyment, Bucky couldn't help wonder how much heavier the shield has gotten for Steve after all these years.

Their nights -- whether huge and extravagant or simple and traditional -- always end the same way. With a few kisses -- more than a _few_ kisses, sometimes they end up making out like teenagers out in the hall -- and Steve pulling away and saying goodnight. No matter how breathless and needy and crazed he makes Bucky, he never comes inside whenever Bucky invites him. 

“Please?” Bucky’ll practically beg. “We don’t gotta do nothin’. Just… Netflix and chill…” 

Steve scoffs. “I know what that means, y’know. You’re not gonna entice me, Sergeant Barnes.” He starts kissing up and down Bucky’s neck, nibbling on his ear and pecking across his collarbone. “As enticing as you are.” Despite saying no, he doesn’t make it easy for him. Steve presses his palm against Bucky’s crotch and rubs. Knees starting to shake, Bucky whimpers and smothers his face between Steve’s neck and shoulder. “Go inside and touch yourself for an hour. Call me before you come.” 

“St-Steve…”

Steve adds one last kiss before stepping away. “Go on, Bucky. Be a good boy.” 

It takes another hour after that, of Steve’s seductive and sumptuous voice taunting and teasing him over the phone, before he lets him finish, and Bucky falls asleep, glittering inside and out, listening to Steve’s voice telling him how good he is. 

That’s the first time they play around in such a way and after that, much to Bucky’s delight, it becomes a more regular occurrence. Little things that make his heart sing and hair stand on end. Steve’ll sometimes order for him at dinner or tell him what to wear or even have Bucky call him if he wants to get himself off. He doesn’t always say yes either. 

It’s not until the second month that Bucky _does_ entice Steve inside. And that’s only with the weepy eyes and pouty lips he knows Steve’s a sucker for. Plus the absolute promise that he’s got no tricks up his sleeve. 

“The night’s just started,” he says. “I swear. I just thought we could… stay _in_ tonight. Order pizza or something. That’s all. Please? _Please_?”

They’ve fallen into a more regular routine of traditional dates. Of Steve coming to get him and then dropping him off when they’re done. They talk nearly every day -- for hours and hours at a time. Bucky’s even fall asleep that way. 

“Mm…” Steve presses his brow against Bucky’s. “Alright. But any _funny_ business, Barnes, and I’m out the door.” 

What Steve doesn’t expect is the candlelit dinner waiting for him inside with rose petals sprinkled on the table. Baked ziti that Bucky cooked from scratch. Apple cake -- Steve’s favorite, he’s learned -- that he’s also made from scratch for dessert. Bucky picked up cooking as a part of his therapy. He… well, it took off. He’s told Steve that in the past few weeks and wanted to surprise him. 

Nibbling on his lip, Bucky peers up at him. Waits for him to do something since all he’s doing is staring at the spread. Eyes wide and mouth slacked. 

“Do you… like it?” he asks. “I just… thought it’d be nice if…”

He doesn’t get to finish that. Steve effortlessly scoops him up and has him pinned against the wall. He kisses him so long and hard that Bucky might actually have bruises on his lips later. He’ll wear them with pride. 

“Is that a yes?” Bucky chuckles when Steve stops his kissing. He’s still got him up against the wall, lifted a few inches off the floor. “You like it?”

“Bucky…” he breathes, and whispers something in French. 

Bucky giggles. “Was _that_ a yes?”

“Yes,” Steve laughs and sets him back down. “Very much a yes.”

They end up on the couch that night, snuggled up under a light blanket since the cool fingers of mid-September air sneak in through the open window. A movie plays on the television, though it’s hard to concentrate on anything beyond Steve’s merciless teasing. 

His hands sneak below the band of Bucky’s pants, sliding slowly along his inners thighs but never actually touching his cock. Bucky squirms on top of him, whimpering and whining and desperate for more. He never gets more though. And Steve just goes on with his teasing, right until the very end of the movie. 

“Okay,” he murmurs, easing his hands away. “I gotta go.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Bucky whines. “No, you don’t. You can stay! We can put on another movie!” He wiggles in place just for _some_ friction. “You don’t gotta leave right now.”

But Steve is already putting on his shoes. He’s leaned over and looks at Bucky with a smirk. With Steve looking at him like that, Bucky gives him a little pout. Steve groans and is suddenly moving in for him. Hand around Bucky’s throat, he gives it a squeeze just enough so that it’s difficult to breathe but not impossible. 

They’re both fully clothed as Steve pins Bucky underneath him and starts grinding over him, giving Bucky the friction he’s so desperately been begging for the whole time. He lets go of his throat and devours Bucky’s mouth. Kisses him like this is the last kiss he’ll ever have. He only stops kissing when Bucky starts to tremble. 

“You wanna come, Bucky?”

Bucky opens his mouth to answer, to beg, to plead, to scream to every heaven imaginable -- yes, yes, _yes_! But all he gets out are gargled, choked on sounds. Noises barely human. 

Steve smirks. 

“Should I let you?” He hums. “I dunno. May have to make you wait…” Bucky shakes his head, over and over and over, begging and pleading. “No? Okay, okay… go ahead and come.”

The world lights up around him. Rapture. Pure, iridescent delight. Bucky’s soaring through an endless, star-filled sky, twinkling dots that light the way through peace. It’s Steve’s voice that carries him back down to earth.

“So good for me,” he murmurs. Peppers kisses into his cheek. “Such a good boy.”

“Steve…” Bucky whispers. Looks up into a pair of precious blue eyes that light up when he says his name. 

“Hey.” Steve pecks a kiss to the tip of his nose. “You with me?”

“Mhm.” The wet, sticky mess in his pants doesn’t stop him from wiggling closer. “Felt good.” 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, and that’s when Bucky realizes that he’s come as well. “Don’t get too used to that, mister,” he says as he slowly lifts away. “We still have over a month to go.”

Bucky groans, but, really, sex or no sex, all these weeks with Steve have been amazing. He wouldn’t trade them for the world. 

After that first home cooked meal, it’s a littler easier to get Steve to come in for their dates. Sometimes they’ll just hang out with Clint and Tasha. Sometimes they go to Steve’s and spend time with Sam and Maria. Bucky really likes them. Sam… well, Sam had been a little guarded at first and Bucky couldn’t really blame him. Tasha and Clint would’ve been the same way with someone if they’d ditched him for three months. But after meeting a few times, he warmed up to him a bit and, when Bucky found out that he worked for the VA, he finally took his own therapist’s advice and asked Sam about attending a meeting. 

“I’ve met someone,” he tells his therapist. 

“Have you?” she asks. 

“Uh-ha.” Bucky fiddles with his fingers. “I’m scared.”

It’s the truth. Bucky’s so scared. Being with Steve, it’s incredible. Steve makes him feel like he can take that fucked up box of his and just leave it out in the middle of the room. If Bucky just happens to trip over it, then Steve’ll catch him. Or, if he’s not there to see Bucky fall, he’ll be there to help pick him back up. 

“What are you scared of?”

Bucky clears his throat and cracks his neck. “Cause… he’s better than me. But I think… I think being with him _makes_ me better.”

“Ah.” She points her pen at him. “But maybe being with _you_ makes _him_ better.”

Bucky smiles. It’s a nice sentiment, it really is, but he’s not sure if that’ll ever be true. 

The first time Steve spends the night, Bucky wakes up alone in bed. Other than a bit of making out and some over the clothes stuff, they didn’t fool around at all -- Steve made Bucky swear he’d be good and not try anything if he wanted him to stay the night. Bucky agreed and made good on that promise, content to spend the evening tucked in Steve’s arms, being pet and listening to Steve’s whispered endearments.

Bucky had fallen asleep facing Steve and now he’s in the bed by himself. He glances around the room. Steve’s clothes are still there, so he didn’t just leave. Tossing the blankets off, Bucky goes to find him. And does quite easily. Steve’s in the living room. Just standing in the middle of the floor, back facing Bucky, but his shoulders are trembling. Steve is… Steve is crying. 

“Steve?” Bucky murmurs. “Are you--”

Steve spins around like he’s startled which is odd because the thought of being able to sneak up on Captain America is absurd. But Steve clearly didn’t expect the company and quickly wipes tears away from his face. 

“I’m fine,” he mutters before Bucky even says anything. “I’m… sorry if I woke you. I’m--”

Bucky cuts him off with a hug. He doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to do. Fuck knows it’s not what he usually wants after he has a nightmare or a flashback -- touches alone tend to make it worse. But not Steve. And Steve, though stiff at first, melts into Bucky’s embrace and cries into his shoulder. Tells him he had a bad dream and he’s sorry, he doesn’t want to be a problem, and Bucky holds him tighter. 

“Oh, Steve,” Bucky murmurs. “You’re never a problem. You’re safe here. You’re safe with me.”

That’s the night Steve tells him more about Peggy Carter and how she believed in him before the serum. He tells him how Dr. Erskine picked him for project Rebirth for seeing a good man inside him after hearing him argue with a recruitment officer about trying to enlist over and over. They talk about the Howling Commandos and then, amazingly, Steve talks about crashing into the ice and Peggy’s voice being the last thing he heard before waking up last year. 

He cries the whole time and Bucky holds him through it until Steve smiles and thanks him for listening.

“Sam’s the only other one I’ve ever really talked about this with,” he says as they cuddle back in bed together. 

Sam, Bucky’s learned, knows the pain of loss and wartime terrors, having seen his wingman fall from the sky right in front of him. At the VA, Sam and others talk about what happened to them. Sometimes, it makes them feel better. Steve’s just talked to Bucky about the past and he’s feeling better. 

“Steve?” Bucky whispers. Touches his left arm where scars have left their mark forever. “Can I… tell you what happened to me?”

The arms around him hug tighter. Steve kisses him. And assures Bucky he can tell him anything he wants. Ever. Always. 

So Bucky does. He tells him all about the routine patrol and the car bomb exploding in front of the hospital. About the five kids he managed to get to safety before being pinned under debris and the attack that followed. Watching his men fall around him and himself being captured. The three days he was held and interrogated until, by chance of luck, his restraints were loose and he broke free. Now he has a medal. Stuffed in the back of his sock drawer. 

He’s exhausted by the time he finishes. Exhausted and sobbing and in Steve’s lap as Steve holds him close and softly kisses every inch of his left arm and doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. For that, Bucky’s grateful. Being held by Steve after emptying that box is perfect and all he needs right now, and they fall back to sleep in a new place of hollowed out trust and beginnings. 

At the start of month three, Bucky can deny it all he wants, but he’s got himself a big, beefy, blonde boyfriend. Whether he uses the term or not doesn’t matter. All their friends know one another and they spend most of their free time together. If Bucky’s not sleeping at Steve’s place, Steve’s sleeping at Bucky’s. When Bucky’s not talking _to_ Steve he’s talking _about_ Steve. Kind of annoying, that, but he doesn’t care. He’s completely smitten. 

He knows that Steve loves to draw and that his mom’s name was Sarah and that he used to put newspapers in his shoes. He can’t dance to save his life but he shared a dance he owed to Peggy Carter after he woke from the ice. Bucky’s honored that he’ll dance with him, too, even though he’s feet are stepped on by massive Captain America feet. 

Though Steve still randomly shows up with flowers and occasionally sends chocolates to Bucky, they have a more regular routine. They’ve started binging shows and movies that Steve’s missed and Bucky _adores_ going over books that he gets to read that are new and fresh to him -- which literally takes Steve, at the most, two days to read. 

Once fall really takes over, they go for walks a lot, strolling through the park, usually holding hands. Anytime Bucky goes to take his, Steve blushes. Anytime Steve goes to take his, Bucky does. Steve is a bed hog and uses all the hot water in the shower. He also complains that Bucky is a blanket hog and never fills the ice trays. They cook together and make a mess in the kitchen -- one time Steve dumped flour in Bucky’s hair which lead to Bucky tossing cake batter at Steve’s face which lead to Tasha calling them both children. Clint snapped a picture. It’s up on Instagram, has over a million likes, and thousands of arguments over whether or not the picture is really of Captain America or photoshopped. 

For the most part, the press has left them alone. One interviewer did bring up Steve’s sexuality. It was live. Bucky’d been holding his breath, but Steve said, nonchalantly and unfazed, that he was bisexual. When asked if he was seeing anyone special, he winked at the camera and said he had a courtship going on. Bucky blushes every time he thinks about it. There’d been some buzz after that, but it’s mostly died down. 

Bucky’ll go to some of the charity events Steve works at and has found he loves it. He’s even begun volunteering at a youth center on his own. There’s nothing he can do about the few times Steve’s been called away for duty or the absolute dread that swallows him whole the couple of days he’s gone. Steve’s contacted him while on missions whenever possible, but the _second_ he’s back, is the only time Bucky’s truly relieved. 

The first time Steve came back from a mission was the first time he ever spanked Bucky. Just took him right over his knee and marked him up until he was crying. It was amazing. Blissful. Everything Bucky needed, and when he was through, he looked up at Steve, tears in his eyes, and smiled. 

“You’re home,” he weeped into Steve’s chest. “You’re here.”

Steve held him tight. “I’m home, Buck.” 

Bucky has spent the night on his knees for Steve. He’s been hand fed and pet and made to wait to use the bathroom and begged to come over the phone. Steve has claimed him in so many ways and yet, as per their deal, they still haven’t slept together. A few over the clothes, dry humpings and hand jobs, but nothing more. 

Now they’re closing in on the end of the month. Only one week left. Something Bucky reminds Steve of when he comes over. 

“You know what happens in a week, right?” 

Steve snorts as he hands Bucky the bag of Chinese food he’s brought with him. He no longer needs to ask Bucky what he wants. He knows exactly what to order for him. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He slides a can of Dr. Pepper over. “In one week you get to nail this big, beefy, blonde and then you can be rid of me.” He chuckles lightly, coughs, and then plops down at the table. “Um… pass the mustard.”

The mustard is right in front of Bucky and he does pass it, but he’s not sure how since his heart has just twisted painfully. Rid of him? Is that was Steve thinks? Is that what Steve… _wants_? It only occurs to Bucky then that they’ve left this part up in the air. _We’ll figure it out from there,_ Steve had said when they made their deal. Steve wanted to court Bucky for three months. No sex. That three months is almost up. And Bucky has no idea what happens next. 

They’re sitting on the couch when it happens. Bucky doesn’t even mean for it to. All he knows is he doesn’t want to be rid of Steve. Something’s happened. It’s changed inside of him. Irrevocably. He’s not sure exactly _how_ it happened or _when_ it happened, but now, looking at the big, beefy, blonde that’s become so much a part of his life he’s not sure how to even live without him, he knows that it _has_ happened. He doesn’t think about it. Bucky just does it. He just says the words he never thought he’d say. Never believed before. 

“I love you.” 

The words come out soft and gentle. Just a sweet admission that warms his heart even from his spot kneeling at Steve’s feet. A place of comfort and tranquility -- where he’s always protected and cherished and safe. 

Steve’s eyes go wide as they go from watching the television to staring at Bucky as though it’s the last thing he expected to hear. 

“You don’t have to say it back,” Bucky goes on saying. He smiles softly. “It’s okay if you don’t love me.” It’s true. As amazing -- as _miraculous_ \-- as it would be for Steve Rogers to love him, just having this chance to be with him, to fall in love with him at all, has been an honor and a privilege. Even if they part ways forever next week, Bucky’s a better person for having known Steve. “I just… wanted you to know that. I love you, Steve Rogers.”

“Bucky…” Steve breathes, and leans down to pull him up into his arms. An effortless move that has Bucky up on his lap and comfortable in seconds. “Oh… Bucky… I…”

“Don’t…” Bucky shakes his head. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything, I…”

Tears spill over Steve’s eyes, one by one, each over them dropping like empty bullet shells. Sure he’s done something wrong, Bucky opens his mouth to apologize for anything that he’s said to cause those tears, tears that have no business ever being in Steve’s eyes, only to have it crushed by Steve’s. When he looks back at him again, Steve’s still crying.

“I am _so_ in love with you, Bucky Barnes,” he admits in a wet, shaky voice. Wraps Bucky up and presses their heads together. Steve whispers, “I don’t want you to be rid of me.” 

“Steve, you dope.” Bucky’s glowing. Glowing brighter than a star. He’s not sure how Steve’s able to stand it. But, then again, this _is_ Captain America. Capable of all sorts of amazing feats. Like loving Bucky Barnes. Bucky would scream it blissfully from every rooftop if he could. _Steve Rogers is in love with Bucky Barnes._ “I don’t wanna be rid of you. I wanna be stuck with you. For as long as you wanna be stuck with me.”

Steve sniffles and laughs and tears up some more before hugging Bucky tight enough to make him gasp. 

“Steve!” Bucky yelps. “Can’t breathe!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Steve lets go so quickly he almost drops him, but gathers him back up before he can. “I’m sorry, Buck, I…” He abruptly starts laughing and buries his face in Bucky’s chest. “Oh, I love you, Bucky. I love you so, so much. I was so scared you wouldn’t… I mean, I didn’t think you’d get _rid_ of me… but I…” Steve is kissing him between every few words, staring at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Oh, I just wasn’t sure and… I…”

“I love you, Steve,” Bucky repeats. And revels in the glowing blush that fills Steve’s face. “I don’t… know what that means exactly, but… I know that I love you.”

Tugging him in, Steve sucks Bucky in for a kiss so passionate, so powerful, a groan rolls through him immediately. Steve’s hands are at his waist, biting into his hips and pulling him over his lap. Their crotches grind together, their breaths becoming hot and heated. Bucky’s toes curl when Steve starts sucking at his neck and whispering his name. 

“Steve…” Bucky whimpers as he thrusts against him. “Steve… Steve…”

“Oh, fuck, Bucky…” 

Steve is up on his feet now, Bucky in his arms. He dumps him back down on the couch and starts yanking his pants down. Bucky’s hard on springs free. He moans with anticipation as Steve drops to his knees in front of him. Bucky almost cries, he’s so fucking excited. After almost three months of waiting, he’s going to get Steve’s mouth wrapped around his throbbing cock. After almost three months of waiting, Steve’s going to give him more than just a quickie. After almost three months…

“Wait…” Bucky grunts. Why, he’s not sure. “Wait… wait…”

Mouth just inches from getting around his already dripping cock -- holy _fuck_ what is Bucky thinking? -- Steve flicks his gaze up to him. 

“What’s wrong?” His eyebrows pull together. “Isn’t this… don’t you want me?”

Want him? That’s the biggest understatement of the century. Bucky’s so desperate for this he could scream. Still, he eases back up and guides Steve away. 

“Yeah, but…” Fuck him, he’s going to regret this in an hour. Five minutes. Five seconds. “We said three months.” Bucky sucks in a deep breath. “Just one week to go. I… I wanna do it. We can… wait. Right?”

For the first time in these three months, it’s _Steve_ who whines. But he only gets out that one needy sound before nodding and getting back up on the couch with Bucky. He swings an arm over his shoulders and Bucky leans against him. 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “We can wait.” He shifts a bit. “I think.” 

***

The week is both the fastest and the longest ever. Apparently, their entire group of friends were more aware of their feelings for one another than they had been. Absolutely none of them were surprised when they told them about their exchange of love. Not even Tasha or Clint. 

“It was gonna take someone _really_ special,” Tasha said. “But I knew you were a big softy all along.”

Since it took every ounce of willpower _not_ to succumb to their desires the night they declared their love for each other, Bucky and Steve decided not to see each other until the big day. They almost slip a few times -- nights on the phone with Steve telling Bucky where to touch and how much to touch and when to come -- but they’ve made it. 

Steve says he has something truly spectacular planned to mark the night. Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. Bucky’s not sure. Because when he gets to Steve’s place and Steve opens the door, they smile for about two seconds before they’re all over each other. 

Bucky’s dragged inside by the front of his shirt and slammed up against the door with Steve pressed against him, kissing ferociously. They rip each others’ clothes off in the heat of it all, ending up completely naked in a matter of seconds and Bucky gets to take in the unimaginable glory of Steve Rogers’ entire body again. Not even his dreams could do this man justice. 

“Hot damn,” he murmurs. “You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous.”

That makes Steve blush so deeply even his chest blossoms red. 

“Shush,” Steve says as he pushes him back against the door and then drops to his knees. “And _don’t_ move. Keep your hands flat against the door.”

Whimpering as Steve’s voice coats him in a layer of craved dominance, Bucky does as he’s told. Presses his palms against the door and holds himself as still as possible. Not the easiest of tasks when Steve licks the wet slit of his cock. 

“Oh _god_ …” Bucky breathes. “Steve…”

“No coming.”

It’s the last thing he says before diving forward and sucking Bucky’s cock all the way into his mouth. Bucky screams with the pleasure. Shakes with the attempts not to move. Steve’s hands push his legs wider apart so his fingers can gently caress his balls. 

“Steve!” Bucky shouts. “Oh _fuck_! M’not… I’m not gonna last like this… oh _please_!” 

Steve chuckles, outright _chuckles_ around Bucky’s cock, and still doesn’t let up. Not until Bucky slamming his palm against the door. Then, eyes focused on Bucky’s, he _slowly_ eases off of him. 

“I thought I told you to keep your hands there.” He gives him a taunting smirk when Bucky gapes at him. “I think I should punish you for that.”

The punishment for moving his hands when he was told not to, apparently, is being made to crawl over to the couch to bend over the arm of it so that Steve can go to town eating out Bucky’s ass. Bucky’s thrusting against it, unable to find the proper friction while Steve just keeps on licking around his hole and delving deep inside and then pulling back out. Over and over, bringing him so close and then backing off. 

“If you come all over my couch,” he growls once when Bucky begs for release. “I’m gonna shove you on your knees and make you lick it clean.”

Bucky groans, a noise coming deep from some primal place within his belly, and considers just letting himself go to see if Steve will really follow through with that. He doesn’t, not today, and Steve just resumes his relentless tormenting.That tongue making him wail and drool all over himself. 

They never actually make it into the bedroom, but they _do_ end up on Steve’s kitchen table with Bucky once again instructed to keep still. Steve opens him up slowly. It’s maddening, really. Those slicked up fingers gradually easing into his body, his body slowly accepting them more and more. 

Bucky’s head thrashes from side to side. He begs. For what, he doesn’t know. For more of that, for more altogether. For Steve. Just for whatever he wants to give to him. Which just happens to include kissing every inch of his sweaty, needy body. 

“Steve!” Bucky shouts mere _seconds_ after Steve slides into him. “ _Oh_ … I wanna come…”

“Not yet,” Steve says. Moves in and out so slowly. So very, _very_ slowly. “Fuck, Bucky, you feel so good.” 

Almost forgetting he’s supposed keep still, Bucky goes to throw his arms around Steve. They budge right before he remembers his instructions and plants them firm against the tabletop. 

“Can I… Steve, my arms… can I…”

“Go ahead, good boy,” he mumbles, lost in a sea of sensation as he moves in and out of Bucky. “You can move your arms.”

The second he has the permission, Bucky flings his arms around him. Tugs him closer. Never wants to let go. 

“I love you, Bucky,” Steve whispers. Feathers kisses under his ear. “You’re so good for me. So perfect. My Bucky.”

Steve’s words wash over him in a wave of absolute heaven and they’re enough to push Bucky over the edge. He comes with Steve inside of him, his honeyed voice nestling deep inside his bones. Milky white release ribbons out of him, leaving Bucky bright and sparkling, and happily lost among diamond drops of rain ready to cleanse the world. Bucky will happily drown in the sensation forever. 

When he resurfaces, he finds himself in Steve’s bed. Apparently, Steve’s cleaned him off. The taste of chocolate sits upon his lips. And a sweet voice whispering in his ear. 

“...I ever wanted.” Steve presses a soft kiss to Bucky’s hip and works up his side. “You’re so perfect, Bucky. So good for me.”

“Steve?” Bucky murmurs. “Is that… I…”

Fingers touch his chin. Shift his gaze so that he can focus on the one who’s there taking such good care of him. Perfect care of him.

“Hey, baby.” Steve pecks his nose and lifts a bottle of water to Bucky’s mouth. Tilts it gently so he can sip from it. “Back with me now?”

“I…” Bucky blinks, the world reshaping around him. “I’m sorry.”

Steve’s eyebrows pull in. “For what?”

“For coming.” Bucky peers up at him. “You didn’t say I could.”

Chuckling, Steve holds the bottle up again and tells him to drink some more. Bucky does and then snuggles closer when Steve slips an arm around his waist. 

“Well…” He nibbles a bit at Bucky’s neck. “Did you come because… because I told you I loved you?” Cheeks heating up, Bucky hides his face in Steve’s side and nods. Steve pets a hand over his head. Tells him again how good he is and Bucky’s heart flutters. “Then I suppose I can let this one slide.” He kisses his neck and laughs. “God, I love you so much, Bucky.”

“Mm.” Bucky throws his leg over Steve’s. “I love you, too. That was so worth it.”

“What was?” 

Bucky stretches through a yawn. “Waiting. Thank you for this, Steve. For…” He chuckles. “For _courting_ me. For letting me fall in love with you. For loving me back.”

Steve slips away from Bucky and eases him down onto his back. He hovers hover him, grins, and kisses his eyes and noses and cheeks and lips. 

“You make it easy, Bucky,” he whispers. “What’ll you think’ll happen if we wait another three months?” 

Peering up at him, Bucky whimpers. “I dunno. But, please, don’t make me wait another three months.”

A laugh rumbles through Steve as he drops into the pillows next to Bucky. Close. Like even a sliver a space between them is too much. 

“Don’t worry.” Steve is sliding his hand down Bucky’s thigh and already Bucky’s growing hard again. “Your big, beefy, blonde isn’t even through with you _tonight_.” 

_His_ big, beefy, blonde. 

There’s nothing about that that Bucky doesn’t love. And _that_ he believes with all his heart. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! This was a part of Kells' Februrary Ficlet Fest
> 
> The February Ficlet Fest are all ficlets that are based upon prompts sent to my tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/).


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